A Memory
by Silverine
Summary: What if the X-Men had teens? See what happens when Logan's daughter gets into trouble.


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**_A Memory_**

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By Silverine

Disclaimer: I do not own Logan, Jubilee, Amiko, Yukio, Remy, Rogue, Scott, Jean, or Xavier. Please don't sue me for entertaining my peers and myself. I am making no profit from this. (With the exception that my English teacher gave me an A for the story. [Although if any big name publishers or anyone from Marvel sees this and likes it...]) I also don't own Pizza Hut or Procter and Gamble. I do own the story line and my characters: Marnie, Natalie, Trois, Kyle, Desiree, Cleo, Marx, Tony and Mr. Human Traffic Light. Please ask permission if you have a desire to use them. 

Note: This takes place in my incredibly ZOINK-ish mind where the idea, "What if the X-Men were all married and had kids?" takes flight. It's a spin-off of the screenplay I'm writing (which I hope to finish soon) Scott and Jean have a kid in their own dimension and time named Marx. Hank and Ororo are married and have twins, Tony and Cleo. Remy becomes immune to Rogue's fatal touch and they marry. Their eldest boy is Trois and their daughter is Desiree (whose been kidnapped by her grammy). Logan adopts Jubilee and brings Amiko to America to raise them together. Logan and his small family go live in Canada. Logan then gets married to a Japanese woman called Natalie. Then his own flesh and blood, Marnie is born. Kyle is an orphan who is friends with the aforementioned characters. Got it? Then please fasten your seat belts and make sure all loose accessories are properly stored under your seat as you now journey through the rollercoaster of Silverine's mind! 

(~)=thought 

It was dark. The air smelled of alcohol and cigars. All around in the alley were people clad in leather and metal. 

"On your mark!" called out a buffed out man dressed in what everyone else was wearing: leather and metal. 

"Yo' goin' down, lil' boy!," taunted one of the drivers at his opponent. The other driver just looked over at the man, not saying a thing. 

"Get set!" continued the human traffic light. "GO!" 

The two racers took off on their motorcycles. They were traveling at high speeds on the tracks that weaved through the alleys of the slums of the city. They were nearing the finish line and it seemed obvious that the first biker was going to win. The second biker saw a closed dumpster up ahead. The biker jumped on and off of it, allowing the motorcycle to be launched ahead of the first biker. This gave the second biker enough distance to win the race. 

The first biker, when he crossed the finish line, stopped his bike and sat there in humility. Some of his buds came over to condole him. 

The second biker jumped off the bike rather energetically. The biker took off the helmet and walked over to the first biker. "Betcha' didn't figure ya'd go down 'gainst a girl, eh lil' boy?" She then walked over to Mr. Human Traffic Light while fluffing her pixie-short, black hair. He counted out about 500 dollars in tens and twenties and then gave the bills to the girl with almost black eyes. She thanked him and headed over to her bike, while calling out to the crowd: "It's been fun, ya'll! But I've got places tah d'stroy an' people tah annoy!" She jumps onto her ride. 

"Wait!" calls a gruff voice. "Yo' gotta let us git back some uva moe-ney!" 

The young woman turns to see her last competitor and offers her explanation: "Sorry bub, but Daddy want's hid scoot back by 'leven." 

"Yo' gotta hour!" he retorted. 

"I promised I'd run a few errands while I was out. Later boys!" She puts on her black helmet, turns the key in the ignition and revs the bike. With the grace of a ballerina, she takes off into the night. 

"Where can she be?" asked an annoyed boy. 

"First she don' show up for de carnival, an' now, dinner," said a boy with red on black eyes. 

"Now, now, my impatient friends," started an African-American boy that had a blue streak running through his white hair, "I'm sure she has good cause for the delay." 

"She said she had to run a few errands for her father," says the African-American's twin sister, who also has the same color pattern in her hair. 

The little group was gathered around a red convertible outside a Pizza Hut. Just then, the sound of a motorcycle is heard in the distance. "Here she comes," says the annoyed boy. 

The big, beautiful, red and silver bike pulls into the parking lot along side the convertible. The girl turns the keys and pulls them from the ignition. She dismounts her father's precious vehicle and takes her helmet off. She begins to fluff her black hair. "Hey guys." 

"Marnie! Where have you been?!" the annoyed boy rages. 

"Easy there, Marx," says a young man with enchanting blue-green eyes. 

"I was out runnin' some errands fer my pa," Marnie answered coolly. 

"Where?" asked the blue-green eyed boy. "Ya smell like stale cigarette smoke and liquor." 

The entire group focuses on Marnie, who can only smile. "Don't worry guys. I ain't doin' drugs er nuthin'." 

"Den why you smell like smoke, chere?" 

"It's okay, Trois. I was standin' in line fer somethin' an' some losers popped some stogies." 

"You should have called," Marx reprimands Marnie. "We were worried you were in trouble." 

"I can take care o' myself." Marnie turns to see the twins. "Hey Cleo. Tony." 

"Hello, my friend," greeted Tony. 

"'Tis good to have you join us," Cleo said, "even if it is two hours after the precedented meeting time." 

"Wouldja gimme a break?" Marnie asked. 

"Ya' know, Marnie, you've been late every Friday night for the past four weekends," said Marx. 

As Marnie heads to the entrance of the Pizza Hut, she says: "Wouldja' jus ' lay up? Huh?" 

"He's right," says the boy with the eyes of blue-green. "What gives?" 

Marnie turns and faces her closest friend. "What? Ya on his side, Kyle?" 

"No, it's just that--" Kyle is cut short by the sound of revving engines of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot. The group focuses on six burly bikers. A hint of grief crosses Marnie's face. 

The bikers turn their engines off and dismount. "Hey! Daddy's girl!" shouted the leader. 

Marnie steps forward and recognizes the leader of the pack as the last person she had raced that night. "Yeah, lil' boy?" she said fearlessly. 

"Marnie, you actually *know*--" Marx is cut off by Marnie raising her arm, signaling everyone to keep quiet. 

"If yo' ain't gonna race tah lettus git our moe-ney back, den we jus' gonna take it!" the leader threatened. Marnie stands her ground, not even flinching. The leader steps up to her and grabs her by the lapels of her black, leather jacket. "Whatcha' gonna do 'bout it, sweetheart?' 

The last word he spoke was slow and almost sweet. No one ever got away with calling Marnie "sweetheart" without suffering an injury, with the exception of her mother. With a swift arm, Marnie put her fist up against the man's neck and tracted all but her middle claw, as her dad had shown her. "Sometimes," she started, "the claws slip." The man put Marnie down slowly and gently. Once down, Marnie retracted her claws and motioned that the little squad get on their way. 

The small mob of bearded, old men turn to leave. Marnie and her friends begin to proceed into the restaurant. The bikers turn back. Their leader says: "We ain't through, mutie." 

"Look, bub," Marnie turns and sees six barrels pointed in her direction. Everyone's hands go up. 

"Great goin', Marnie," Marx sarcastically whispered to the person he only pretends to like because they're on the same team. However, making a verbal retaliation was the last thing on Marnie's mind. Instead, she ordered: "Marx, blast 'em." 

"Dis is so great, mon ami," said a man with red on black eyes. "Our kids be out an' my wife let me out o' de house. Dis is de great life, non?" He looked over at his friend in the passenger seat. 

"It may be fer you, Cajun," said the short, muscular man with black hair and cool, blue eyes. "I get out almost every Friday night." 

"You don' hafta worry 'bout de t'ings I hafta, mon ami. I worry so much about Desiree ever since she was kidnapped. I worry 'bout Trois, too. I 'fraid dey gonna come an' steal him, too." He pauses. "An' den dere's de wife! Ro' is always nagging at moi!" 

"I'd give anythin' tah have that sorta' life back," the other man said sadly. 

The Frenchman had said something to upset his companion. Then he remembered. His friend had lost his wife in a car accident over the summer. He loved her more than anything in the world. Actually, he had confessed to three things he loved more than his beautiful wife: Jubilee, Amiko and Marnie, his three beautiful daughters. Julee and Ami were both adopted at the same time. Both of them were grown now. Julee, working as an X-Man and as a receptionist at Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters, lived with her dad and Marnie. Whereas Ami was one of the executive presidents of Procter and Gamble. That left Marnie, his own flesh and blood. He almost lost her in the same car accident. He thanked God that the accident had triggered Marnie's mutation: His same healing factor. 

After a few moments of silence, the Frenchman spoke up. "You okay, Logan?" 

Logan was looking out the window as they passed by a Pizza Hut. "Hey! Ain't that Scott's car?" 

The Frenchman slowed his black Mercedes. "Don' de kids have it 'night?" 

"Yep. An' by the look o' them road hogs, I'd say they're in trouble." Logan was right, because just then, as if cued by a director, a red blast occurred. The two men looked at each other. 

The Frenchman smiled. He knew what his friend wanted to do. So in jest, he asked, "Shall we call de cops or do we help ourselves?" 

"Ya should know by now that ya don't need tah ask a stupid question like that. Let's go, Remy!" 

The blast wasn't very big. It wasn't intended to harm anything. It was intended to intimidate an opponent. However, what one intends is not always what happens. In an effort to scare the bikers away, an anti-mutant crowd had gathered around instead. 

"What you t'ink our parents do in dis situation?" asked Trois. 

"Fight!" replied Marnie, who fought for the sake of fighting. 

"Fight?!" Marx screamed. "FIGHT?! *Think* of the odds. We're out numbered three to one. I say we run." 

"Run?" Marnie asked. "Fer someone whose parents are the leaders o' the undefeated X-Men, you sure are a wuss." 

"Those that run away, live to fight another day," Tony quoted. 

"I have to side with Tony and Marx this time," Kyle said. "Maybe if it was two to one, I'd side with ya. Sorry Marnie." 

"Has anyone even looked around?!" Marnie shouted. "We're surrounded! Now, this is jus' from my experience, but I don't think mutie haters are jus' gonna let us walk away." 

"She has a point," Cleo remarked. 

Suddenly, the screams of hatred became screams of terror. Balls of light were exploding in the air. The teenagers couldn't see the source of the explosions. But Trois knew. He had seen those types of explosions since he was a baby. Even at that young age, the balls of kinetic energy were the only things that would lull him to sleep. Seeing them now, Trois couldn't help but feel like he was wrapped up in a warm blanket of security. 

Marnie, however felt differently. When the crowds started fleeing, she saw what could have been her long lost twin: A man that was short and stocky with wild black hair. What made them even more identical were the claws that emerged from his fists. They could have been twins, were it not for the fact that the man that stood before her was the one responsible for her birth. Having her father and Marx in the same place together meant trouble for Marnie. Marx would rat her out faster than the speed of light can travel. 

With Remy throwing his cards everywhere and Logan showing off his shiny claws, the entire crowd had dispersed. Except for the bikers, whose good sense was fogged by a little alcohol and a great lack of gray matter. "Heya fella's," Logan said, trying hard not to grin. Boy, did he love fighting! At least this time Jean and Xavier wouldn't chew him out for being violent. He had a good reason for fighting. ~It's gonna burn up One Eye that I saved his son.~ Logan thought to himself. That thought made it all the better. 

The bikers looked at Logan's claws. Then they looked back at Marnie, who still had her claws out. Then they looked back to Logan. "So," grunted the head biker, "yo' mus' be 'Daddy.'" 

Remy looked over to Logan and mouthed the word, "Daddy?" "I don't know what yer talkin' 'bout, bub," he replied. 

"Yo' wanna get ugly, pops?" the biker barked. 

"Only as ugly as ya wanna make it," Logan taunted. 

"Let's go, pops!" 

On the other hand, Remy had enough. He pulled out a card and charged it. "Let's not make it too ugly, mes amis." Remy tossed the card at the squad of metal mercenaries. Thinking that the card would blow them to pieces, the retro group from the 80's scrambled onto their motorcycles and left. The card landed, glowed, and then died out. 

"I thought ya liked a good fight, Gumbo," Logan said. 

"When my kid is involved, I take no chances, mon ami," Remy replied. He and Logan then turned to the group of kids. "What the blazes were they after ya fer?!" Logan shouted. 

"Why don't you ask your daughter," Marx said sarcastically. "She seems to know them." 

"Marnie?" Logan asks. "Any o' this true?" 

Marnie was silent for a few moments as to how she should word her answer. She knew *never* to lie to her father. Parents always have a way of finding things out, and in the Wolverine family, if you're caught in a lie, it's double the trouble. "Um...Yeah," Marnie squeaked. ~Oh, yeah, that's real tactful,~ Marnie thought to herself. 

"How?" asked Logan calmly. 

~How?~ Marnie thought. ~*How?*~ Marnie was confused. Her father wasn't known for being a softhearted person. The calm, cool, one-syllable question was making her more nervous than when he rants and raves for days. Marnie felt her heart drop into her stomach. "I...um...raced...them." 

"Raced them?" It was more a statement than a question. Logan, again being unusually calm, ordered: "Marnie, gimme the keys an' say goodbye tah yer friends. We're goin' home." 

Marnie complied with her father's demands. She bid her friends farewell as if she would never see them, or the light of day, again. She puts her helmet on and takes her place behind her father on the motorcycle. He revs the engine and zips off. 

"Trois," Remy says, "git in de car." 

"Huh? Why?" Trois asks. 

"Don' ask, jus' do," came his response. 

"But Dad!" Trois protests. "I didn' do anyt'ing! Why my evening got to be ruined?" 

Remy walks over to his son and grabs his ear. "B'cause I be your fat'er. It's my job to ruin t'ings for you," he said sarcastically. He then turns to the remainder of the group. "You kids head on home. I be tellin' your folks 'bout dis." 

Remy and Trois head over to the black Mercedes. The others pile into the red convertible, grumbling. 

She laid there, on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She wondered what punishment lay ahead. She was a relatively good kid. Well, good, considering her genes. She didn't drink, didn't do drugs. She never "shared a bed" with anyone. There would be an occasional schoolyard fight. But her dad would just be really proud of her. Fighting seemed to be in her blood. If she ever *did* get into trouble, her punishment was doing extra chores or no TV for a week. Somehow, Marnie figured the punishment would be more severe. Although being in solitary confinement since last night seemed to be punishment enough. That thought ended when a soft knocking was heard. "Come in," Marnie said dryly. 

The door opened to reveal a short, slim girl with black hair and blue eyes. "Hey Jules." 

"I brought you some pop-tarts," Jubilee said and shut the door quietly. She sat down on the bed next to Marnie's knees. She handed the plate to Marnie, who gratefully took it. 

It was silent for many moments until Julee spoke. "Why'd ya do it?" 

"Huh?" The question had caught Marnie off guard. 

"Why'd'ja go scoot racing for money?" 

"Oh," Marnie said. "I was hopin' it'd be a surprise." 

"What?!" Julee insisted, blue eyes gleaming. 

"I was hopin' I could win enough money tah fly the family back tah Japan fer Christmas." 

"Didja' tell Dad that?" Julee asked. 

"Yeah. It got 'im tah cool off a bit." 

"Oh Marnie!" Julee exclaimed. "Ya know what dad thinks!" 

"I do?" Marnie, although she looked like her dad and acted like her dad, had no clue about what her dad thought. 

"Ya know. 'Bout Mom." 

"Gimme another hint." 

Julee's eyes grew big. "Ya honestly don't know?" Marnie shook her head. Julee then became serious and strangely quiet. "Ya know...Dad feels responsible fer Mom's death. I guess he feels...that..." 

Marnie finishes her sister's sentence. "Going back to Japan would bring back too many memories." 

"Yeah," Julee agreed, "that, and facing Grams and Gramps. I guess it's that whole traditional honor thing." 

~But it isn't his fault!~ Marnie thought. ~He wasn't the one that was so drunk he couldn't tell Miss America from a filing cabinet! He wasn't the one that hit us head on!~ 

"Yeah," Marnie said aloud. 

The door knocks. 

"Come in," Marnie replies. 

The door opens to reveal Logan. "Hey Darlins," he said softly. "Jules, ya mind steppin' out fer a while?" Julee nodded and shut the door when she exited. 

"Marnie, I did some thinkin'. Yer intentions fer gettin' the family back tah Japan were good," Logan started out. "But the racin' wasn't. Darlin', it's illegal fer a minor tah race fer money. That's gamblin'. I ain't never taught ya tah gamble." 

"I jus' thought if I could get the money... Julee's told me that she would like tah see Grandma and Grandpa. I'll bet Ami would like to see Yukio, an' you, too, dad. I also figured ya'd like tah see yer friends, and the monks at the monastery." Marnie sighed. "I jus' wanted tah give the whole family somethin' special: A memory." 

Logan looked down at his shoes. After hearing what his daughter had said, he didn't want to punish her. But he knew it was the right thing to do... 

It was dark. The air smelled of alcohol and cigars. All around in the alley were people clad in leather and metal. 

"On your mark!" called out a buffed out man dressed in what everyone else was wearing: leather and metal. 

"Yo' goin' down, lil' boy!," taunted one of the drivers at his opponent. The other driver just looked over at the man, not saying a thing. 

"Get set!" continued the human traffic light. "GO!" 

The two racers took off on their motorcycles. They were traveling at high speeds on the tracks that weaved through the alleys of the slums of the city. They were nearing the finish line and it seemed obvious that the first biker was going to win. 

The second biker saw a closed dumpster up ahead. She remembered the stunt she had pulled the night before. But this night was different. This was her punishment.The second biker, when she crossed the finish line, stopped her bike and sat there sulkingly. 

The first biker jumped off the bike rather energetically. His buds ran over to him, cheering. "I told ya I could whip the lil' mutie! I jus' was rusty da first time!" He then walked over to Mr. Human Traffic Light who counted out about 500 dollars in tens and twenties and then gave the bills to the man with the tattered beard. 

Logan walked over to the second biker. She had taken off her helmet and her hair was messy and sweaty. She had her arms crossed over the handlebars. She laid her head on her arms. "Why're ya forcin' me tah do this pa?" 

"Tah teach ya a lesson," Logan replied gently. "The best way tah learn somethin' is through humility." 

"I don't know if I can race anymore. I'm tired." 

Logan put his arm around Marnie. "Yer in luck, Darlin'. All the money ya had made has been given back." 

Marnie looked up into her dad's cool, blue eyes as she hopefully said: "So we can go home?" 

Logan smiled and ruffled his baby's hair. "Yeah, after I fill 'er up." 

Marnie moves to the rear of the motorcycle and her dad takes his place as driver. The two put on their helmets. Logan turns the key in the ignition and revs the bike. And with the grace of a ballerina, they take off into the night. 


End file.
